Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  "Is he always this open minded?" I asked Simms.

  "Not usually, but he's a good cop."

  "A business arrangement," I said again, looking at Cooper. "You must have known about Klee's violin. The expensive one?"

  Cooper nodded.

  "Had it insured for ten mil."

  "That's right," I said. "Now imagine a violin like that gets stolen or lost. Imagine that Klee collects the ten mil for it."

  "But he loved that violin, so everyone said," said Simms.

  "Right, like I love the last cigarette in my pack."

  "So what are you saying?" asked Cooper.

  "I'm saying that Klee had help to pull this insurance fraud."

  "Bullshit," said Cooper.

  I pulled out my phone and started to dial a number.

  "I wonder how fast I can have you riding desk?" I asked, looking at Cooper.

  Simms put his hand out towards me.

  "C'mon," he said. "Carrick, we're all on the same team. Let's start working together. Cooper, please, stop being a dick."

  Cooper and I had a staring contest. I felt so junior high, so I looked over at Simms and grinned at him.

  "If walrus here will show he's on the same team, I'm game. Otherwise I'm gonna make this call and get the hell out of here and solve this homicide and embarrass the both of you."

  Simms looked at Cooper and raised his eyebrows and bumped his head in Cooper's direction.

  "Alright," said Cooper, looking at me. "I'll play ball."

  I looked at Cooper. I gave him a stony stare. Mostly because I didn't care for him much, and some because I didn't really give a shit about him. I wanted into the crime scene and these guys were my ticket.

  "Like I was saying," I said. "Klee was fixing to set up an insurance fraud."

  "That's pretty ballsy," said Simms.

  "You guys didn't get a flavor for him from his interviews?" I asked.

  "Some," said Simms.

  "Let me paint a picture for you. I'm not crying over him. Seems he was an arrogant SOB who figured he was owed everything. You heard how he got his positions in the orchestra, right?"

  Cooper and Simms nodded at me.

  "Right, so here's a guy who figures he can get away with whatever strikes his fancy. As Jamal tells it, he was fixing to cash in the insurance on the violin. He was on his last good graces with the Philharmonic. You must know that, they were gonna get rid of him if he didn't buckle up, and by all accounts he wasn't gonna buckle up."

  Simms nodded.

  "So he came up with this genius idea whereby Jamal and his lads steal the violin and Klee cashes in on the insurance. They split the ten mil fifty fifty. Then after the dust has settled, Klee gets his violin back. Like Jamal told me, it was win win."

  Simms shook his head.

  "That son of a bitch," he said. "So you think this worry about a couple of thugs following him was all bullshit?"

  "That's what I thought originally," I said. "I figured it'd make a good cover for why he's carrying his violin around all the time. But I spoke to Jamal about that and he told me he saw the guys that were following Klee. So I think that's pretty legit."

  Simms nodded.

  "So where did he keep the violin?"

  "I thought so," I said.

  "Thought what?" asked Simms.

  "You guys haven't found the Strad, have you?" I asked.

  Simms shook his head.

  "Found a bunch of other violins at his place, but no Strad," Simms acknowledged.

  "Jamal tells me he kept it in a locker at The Glovebox overnight from around midnight to eight in the morning. Though I'm thinking it's likely not there."

  "How do you figure that?" asked Cooper.

  "Because only he and Jamal have a key. If he didn't have the violin with him it's either been stolen from him when he was murdered, which is unlikely…"

  "Why?" asked Cooper.

  "Because Jamal tells me he kept the violin in the locker over the weekend until Monday around eight in the morning. He only used the Strad on special occasions so I don't figure he was planning to use it for Saturday's performance."

  "How so?" asked Cooper, he was becoming more chatty as the time wiled away.

  "Because it's Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Everybody does that all the time. It's not special. In any event when was he murdered?" I asked.

  "Coroner puts TOD at between eight and noon on Friday," said Simms.

  I nodded.

  "Okay, so he puts the violin away on Thursday evening. Come Friday morning I don't think he's gone to fetch it from the locker when he's surprised by whoever killed him. I don't think he had a chance to get it yet."

  "That's quite the supposition," said Cooper.

  "Maybe, but then Jamal also tells me that his guy checked in on the violin late Friday night and it was still there. Now you're saying Klee was dead by Friday morning. That means he hadn't picked it up since he put it away on Thursday evening."

  "Why didn't you just say that?" asked Cooper, starting to get a little testy with me.

  "Where's the fun in that. Deductive reasoning, my dear Cooper."

  That was cheesy, I admit it. But Cooper could use some cheese. I think he wanted to start rolling eyeballs at me but he caught himself. He did a weird tilt of his head, like a dog might when he's trying to understand you.

  "We might want to get some guys out there to check it out?" said Simms, looking at Cooper. Cooper nodded. Simms picked up the phone. He spoke to the other end and ordered some unis to make it out to The Glovebox. He covered the mouthpiece and looked up at me.

  "What's the locker number?"

  I shrugged.

  "I dunno and I don't think it's important," I said.

  Simms cursed under his breath. He told the other end just to send the unis and make sure they take note of anything taken out of the locker and if it's a violin to detain them. He hung up and looked at me.

  "I thought you knew where the violin was located?"

  "I did," I said.

  "You don't. You just told me you don't know the locker number."

  "I don't."

  "Jesus, what is it? Do you know it or not?" Simms was getting a little riled up.

  "I know that the locker is located at The Glovebox. Why do you think Jamal would give me the locker number?"

  "Because you had a heart to heart."

  "Yeah, but he's not stupid. Anyway, I reckon it doesn't matter now anyway."

  "How do you figure that?" asked Cooper, as Simms looked forlorn, looking at his desk.

  "In between meeting you and Jamal I had a nice steak lunch. Jamal has probably sent his guys to find the violin in the locker. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that the violin was likely swiped sometime Friday or Saturday. Sunday at the very latest. It hasn't been at The Glovebox for at least a day."

  "You think?" asked Cooper.

  "I do. Let me spell it out for you. Jamal desperately needs the violin now. With Klee dead, he's not gonna get any insurance money, so his scam is up. The only thing he can leverage is the violin. So he checks up on it on Friday night, and it's still there. But he doesn't take it. Why not? Because he doesn't know that Klee is dead. Ergo, he didn't have Klee killed. It wouldn't have made sense for him in any event. With Klee dead, Jamal's losing out on five mil."

  "Okay, so Jamal didn't kill Klee and he didn't take the violin on Friday night, so he says," said Cooper.

  "So I believe him."

  "And that's what you're gonna go on?" asked Cooper.

  "It's all I have to go on, but he seemed sincere."

  "Okay," said Cooper, "I'll play. Let's pretend you're right. What's happened to the violin?"

  "Somebody else got to it."

  "Like who?"

  "Like the men who killed him," I said.

  "And who are they?" asked Simms, rejoining the conversation.

  "Can't share that right now."

  Simms frowned at me.

  "I thought we were working on this together?" he sai
d.

  "I thought you guys were giving me all the help I needed, not vice versa."

  "You're an ass," said Simms. We weren't so pally pally anymore.

  "I'm not trying to be difficult," I said. "I just need to get my arrows straight and I'll give you everything. Listen, I'm not gonna arrest anyone, you guys are gonna get that glory. I just don't want anything fucked up before then."

  Cooper looked over at Simms and raised his eyebrows.

  "Alright," he said, "you wanna do all the work and give us the glory, I can live with that. What can you tell us?"

  "I'm thinking it all comes down to the violin."

  "What comes down to the violin?" asked Cooper.

  "Everything, particularly the murder," I said.

  "I still like one of the husbands for it," said Cooper.

  "So did I until I spoke with them. They've both got alibis."

  "We'll be the judge of that," said Cooper.

  "What kind of bullet was Klee shot with?" I asked.

  "Two bullets and they were both .40 caliber," said Cooper.

  "Have you got any further analysis on them?" I asked.

  Simms looked up at me and then over at Cooper. Cooper nodded.

  "Ballistics figures they're a match for a Heckler & Koch USP, but obviously we don't know which specific gun until we test them."

  I nodded. It was all starting to fall into place.

  "Just as I thought."

  "This helps you?" asked Simms.

  "Yeah it does. I'll throw you a bone. Figure out who likes to use that kind of handgun regularly. Who issues it to their department and you'll be well on your way."

  "And I suppose you know?" asked Cooper.

  "As easy as a search on the internets," I said, smiling at them. "And if I'm right we're gonna have a helluva time getting justice. Might even turn relations sour."

  "You like talking in riddles, don't you?" asked Simms, looking at me with a grin. I was starting to think all was forgiven.

  "Well, we appreciate the tips, but we've still gotta bring in the husbands to make sure," said Cooper.

  "No doubt," I said. "I'll give you another leg up. Kieran doesn't have a gun, so far as he told me, and I figure he was being honest. We had an understanding you see. As for Perry, he tells me he has a Smith & Wesson 4006. That's a .40 caliber but not the kind you're looking for."

  I looked at them. Simms was making notes.

  "Don't say I didn't do anything for you."

  "You're a real pal," said Simms, looking up and smiling at me.

  "Listen," I said. "I'd like to take a look at the crime scene. There might be something there that will shed further light on the situation."

  "You've been given clearance," said Simms.

  "So I can just rock up and the uni will be good with that?"

  "No," said Cooper. "You need to rock up and tell him who you are and give him some ID. Then you'll be good."

  "However," added Simms, "if you wait until five we'll be clearing out of the crime scene. We've got everything we need, so the uni will be locking and leaving it then."

  "What about a key?" I asked.

  "Speak to the super," said Simms.

  "And where am I going?"

  "To the crime scenes," said Simms not realizing what I was asking.

  "What's the address?"

  "It's the Bon Vivant Views on Central Park South. Apartment nine oh five," said Simms.

  I looked at my watch, it was well past two. I looked at Cooper and Simms. They looked ready to take an afternoon nap.

  "I've done a lot of talking. You guys have done a lot of listening. What can I get from you?" I said.

  "Probably not much that you don't already know," said Simms.

  "Yeah, seems like you've done your homework already," agreed Cooper. "Something we didn't know was the vic's involvement with Jamal. That's not something you easily get from interviews. Not when you're the police."

  I nodded.

  "Gary wasn't very cooperative at first, not until we told him we were gonna haul him in for an interview. Then suddenly he became a lot more chatty. But he didn't give us Klee," said Cooper.

  "You heard about John Stampley?" I asked.

  Simms nodded.

  "Yeah," he said, "but to hold a grudge like that for that long. I'm not thinking he did it."

  "Me neither," I said. "But I like him more for what he found out about the violin."

  "That it's been stolen?" asked Simms.

  I nodded.

  "That's hearsay, and I'm not that interested in hearsay until we find out that it might be relevant to the case," said Cooper.

  "I just told you it might be relevant to the case," I said.

  "Yeah, but you didn't give us much."

  "Well, I'm gonna go pay him a visit tonight or tomorrow and verify the information he supposedly got."

  "You do that," said Cooper. "In the meantime, we're gonna bring in the husbands. Nine times out of ten in cases like this, it's a jealous lover. Simple as that."

  "I thought it was eight times out of ten," I said, being as sarcastic as possible. Cooper didn't pick up on it.

  "Whatever, eighty percent, ninety percent, it's still just percentages."

  "NASA wasn't hiring when you applied with your advanced mathematics degree?" I asked.

  Cooper frowned at me but didn't say anything. I stood up to go. I put on my hat and grabbed my bag. I opened the side zipper pocket and scooped out the bullets. I rolled them out onto the table. Some rolled to Simms, others rolled towards Cooper who was too slow or maybe too lazy to stop them from rolling onto the floor. I didn't give a shit.

  "You guys might like these too," I said.

  Simms caught the few that were rolling down the end of his desk.

  "I'm outta here. By tomorrow I'll tell you exactly how this went down, while you're still figuring out who next to interview."

  I was looking at Cooper. I liked Simms, but I figured he was probably better on his own.

  SIXTEEN

  Chapter 16

  I had pissed away my afternoon after leaving the Central Park Precinct and Detectives Cooper and Simms. It was a nice day in New York. The sun was shining and it was warm. I decided to walk around the park for a few hours and watch the world go by. Or at least watch New York go by.

  In the middle of the day I was astonished to see just how many people enjoy the park. I knew that employment was at an all time low, but to me it looked like half of New Yorkers were either taking a personal day or were unemployed.

  Central Park sits on over eight hundred and forty acres so the Internet tells me. Very few of those acres are not being inhabited by people. Even within the innermost center of the park there was still noise and people milling around. I saw several green Martians, which I learned later were actually Parks' Enforcement Patrol. The men in green.

  I took a walk around the reservoir which is over one and a half miles. That was as far north as I headed. I spent most of my time down in the lower half of the park enjoying the view of tight bums in yoga pants strutting on by.

  In such a large city filled with so many people, I found more lonely souls in that green space than I'd encountered in my life. With activity abounding and the jostling of bodies, you could still be lonely in the middle of a torrent of people.

  That got me to thinking about Klee. I wondered if he was lonely too. I've only seen empty shells do the things that he did. The womanizing, the boozing and drugs. The screwing around. Looking for things to fill the emptiness. All the while, like a ship adrift in choppy seas, taking on more water and drowning all the quicker.

  I sat on a bench and watched nature for a while. I saw an old woman with a wire basket on wheels leaning towards a fat gray squirrel and offering him shelled peanuts. She seemed to get more delight out of the transaction than the squirrel did. She kept leaning in over and over. Each time with a new peanut. She had a whole brown paper, crumpled bag of them in her lap.

  Her clothes were old and
disheveled. She had on a light cardigan over a floral print dress. The elbows of the cardigan were frayed and faded. She was thin. A skeleton covered by a thin, loose layer of skin. I got to thinking that most of her pension however small it might have been, probably went to feed the wildlife around here. Didn't matter, it clearly gave her unbounded joy.

  There was a dance between her and the squirrel. She'd reach out with bony fingers, clutching a shelled peanut and the squirrel would scurry away. Then it'd come back again, slowly, nervously, creeping like a thief in the night. In the last few inches it'd hurry up and grab the peanut and then back off a foot or two. Those little hands and small fingers and sharp teeth would make short work of the shell. It'd shovel the peanut into its mouth. This went on for a while. Once he'd had his fill he scurried away up a tree to stash his bounty for the coming winter.

  When the squirrel left and before the next one came, the old woman with big rimmed glasses would eat a peanut herself. Looking out across the green space. I followed her gaze, but there wasn't anything there that caught my eye. Perhaps those rheumy eyes were looking inward instead.

  I left around dinner time and decided I'd let Sonia pay for a very expensive steak. The best steak that money could by, so the concierge at the hotel told me was at Haystack. Haystack was a pretentious joint that required a jacket and tie, so I put one on. I wore the fedora too which they didn't mind.

  The ambiance was dark and yellow. Dark woods and warm yellow lights. It was clean and immaculate with high backed, comfortable chairs. They put me in a corner in a two seater which in most other places would have fit four.

  In LA, I ate for a week on what my filet mignon cost at this joint, and I'm no vegetarian eating beans and rice when I'm at home. I asked the waiter who was a short guy about my age if it was worth it. He laughed a rolling, bubbling laugh like I'd just shared a private joke. Then he got real serious really quick and told me I was about to enjoy the best steak of my life.

  The place was full when I got there and with furrowed brows I was informed there were no cancellations. I told them I had promised to meet Sonia Varnier here. In that case, right this way they said. And here I was, sitting by myself in a corner of an overpriced steak joint waiting for the best steak of my life.

  I admire hyperbole as much as the next guy, but not when it comes to my food. I figured the steer my steak came from was probably the same ranch in Texas that sent Denny's theirs.