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

by Jason Blacker

  I grinned at them. They both looked at me quizzically.

  "Well, hopefully we'll get the answers we need to wrap up this case," said Dykes.

  "You don't get it, do you?" I asked.

  "Get what?" asked Dykes, trying his coffee.

  "The answers to everything in room oh forty-two."

  He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head to one side pinching his lips together as if to say whatever.

  "Never mind, obviously haven't read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."

  "Heard of it," said Jackson.

  The moment had passed.

  "Well, should we make our way there?" I asked.

  Dykes nodded, and Jackson and I followed him out of the homicide detectives' bullpen and towards processing and interrogation. We were able to stay indoors the whole way.

  Interrogation room zero forty-two was on the main level. We waited out in the lobby for Rampton. We didn't have to wait long. It was not busy yet, but I bet it would be in a couple of hours. First of all it was a Thursday. Most folks would be working tomorrow. Secondly it was only around eleven. That meant folks hadn't had a chance to tie one on long enough yet to cause a ruckus. It also meant the domestics were only starting to simmer in the pot on top of the stove of dissatisfaction.

  I sipped my coffee. I'd managed about a quarter of it when Rampton came in. He was leading skinny Jesus whom we'd now come to know as Gilder. His hair looked greasy and he was unshaven. His complexion was sallow and the bags under his eyes were gray and dull. He looked better in the picture. As he came by I put him at around five ten, my height, but maybe twenty pounds lighter. He'd probably be punching at the welterweight division.

  He didn't look at us as he passed. His head was slightly lowered. He had on a black tee and black leather jacket with tassels. His pants were black denim and he wore half-high black cowboy boots. He might have passed for goth if he was twenty years younger. His hands were behind his back in silver bracelets courtesy of the Illinois state.

  Rampton wore his uniform with pride. It was clean, crisp and ironed. His olive pants were ironed to a razor crease down the front and his khaki shirt under the chocolate jacket looked pressed. He was Master Trooper Rampton. I could tell by the single rocker below a single chevron and the MT insignia on his right lapel. He wore an odd looking hat I knew as a lemon squeezer. It was chocolate brown and had the Montana crease in it. He was tall. A little taller than Dykes as he walked by. He grinned at us and nodded. He probably had thirty or more pounds on Dykes. Mostly muscle. His left hand was holding the bracelets between Gilder's hands. His right hand held a clear plastic baggy with a Ruger SR9 and a smaller plastic baggy with a wedding ring on it. The ring had a smidge of blood on it. Dollars to donuts this had Celia's DNA on it.

  Dykes and Jackson and I walked up to the processing desk with him. I stood off to the side for a bit as I watched the handoff from Rampton to Dykes and Jackson. Paperwork was filled out and idle chit chat spouted forth from mouths. I stood and watched and drank my coffee. I was halfway done by the time Gilder was all ours.

  Dykes and Jackson walked on each side of Gilder through a magnetically locked door operated by their swipe card. I figured mine wouldn't work down here, so I followed them down a hallway to a small room on the right-hand side. Dykes was holding the baggy with the handgun in it. The magazine was out and the barrel was slid open with a loose bullet in the bag. The plaque on the outside of it read zero forty-two. We walked in and the door closed behind us, locking us in.

  Jackson brought the video recorder he'd taken from homicide and put it on a tripod that was leaning up against the corner of the room. To our right was a one way mirror. Nobody was looking in. Well, maybe Lane would be if he got here sometime soon. I figured that was a likely scenario. To our left was a small metal table bolted to the floor. One stool sat on the opposite side of this table also bolted in. On our side were two stools bolted down. I figured I'd be standing. It'd keep me awake.

  Dykes took Gilder over to the opposite side with the one stool and sat him down. He unlocked the handcuff on his left hand and slid it under a bar welded to the table. Then he recuffed him. Gilder wasn't going anywhere. He looked up at us with the eyes of a lost, defeated man. They were sad and watery and vacant.

  "Do any of yous have a smoke?" he asked.

  "There's no smoking in here," said Dykes, returning and sitting down behind him. "Before we start I'm going to read you your rights."

  He looked over at Jackson who nodded and started recording. Then he read Gilder his rights. Gilder had probably been read his rights by the trooper, but it didn't hurt to have it on camera. Gilder declined a lawyer. At least for now. Jackson sat down next to Dykes. I leaned up against the far wall opposite the door we'd come in. I crossed my hands in front of me, holding my half empty coffee in one hand. I looked at Gilder. The video recorder was between me and Jackson. Jackson sat closest to me, Dykes closest to the door.

  "You know why you're here," said Dykes.

  Gilder didn't say anything. He looked down at his hands. I noticed the lighter band of skin where his wedding band used to be. We had that ring now with the vic's blood and DNA all over it. Plus we had the murder weapon. At least ballistics would tell us that within an hour. These guys were working twenty=four seven to wrap this up.

  "Now if we get a full confession from you," continued Dykes, "I might be willing to put in a good word with the DA. Tell her how cooperative you were. But we need a full confession, that's why we're taping this. Do you understand?"

  Gilder shrugged. He was still looking down. His black, wavy, greasy hair hanging in front of his face like a macabre curtain.

  "Don't matter to me. I'm getting life anyways."

  "Could be worse," said Dykes. "Where that guy's from you could be looking at the death penalty."

  Dykes nodded towards me and Gilder looked up at me. I smiled at him and drew my finger across my throat. He looked away.

  "Even so," said Dykes. "We might get leniency. There might be extenuating circumstances. Hell, you might be out before I get retirement."

  Gilder looked up at Dykes like a petulant child.

  "You fucking cops," he said. "You think you're better 'an us but you ain't. I've seen more crooked cops than my grandma's crooked fingers."

  "That may be so," said Dykes, "but you don't look like a man who's been targeted unfairly. Now, if you want me to call IAD I can do that. But then I reckon I should give you something to complain about."

  Dykes looked over at Jackson.

  "Might want to turn that off for the next part," he said.

  Jackson got up to walk over to the video recorder.

  "Alright, alright, fuck, let's just be civilized," said Gilder.

  Jackson sat back down. Dykes reached into the outer pocket of his jacket and pulled out a roll of Lifesavers. There weren't many left. He unrolled the outer wrapper and put one in his mouth. He offered Jackson one and Jackson took it. He offered me one. I waved my coffee at him. Then he offered one to Gilder. Gilder reached out his hand as best he could. Dykes put one in there. Gilder put his face down to his hand and took the mint into his mouth.

  "Good," said Dykes. "Now that we're all friends, let's have a friendly chat."

  Dykes tapped on the handgun through the plastic. The Ruger was close to him on the table. Gilder looked at the gun.

  "I'm gonna tell you a story," said Dykes, "and then you can help me fill in the missing pieces."

  Gilder looked at him but didn't say anything.

  "This Ruger SR9 we've been looking for since earlier this week. It's the weapon that was used to kill James Ensor. Any time now an officer's gonna come in and take this piece of evidence to ballistics and by the time the witching hour comes round we'll have the evidence we need to confirm that."

  Dykes slid the gun towards Jackson slightly to show the smaller plastic baggy with his wedding ring in it. Dykes picked it up and waved it in the air like it was something he was trying to dry off
.

  "And this here," he said, looking at the transparent bag between him and Gilder, "is where the gold is. Not literally of course, I mean it is a gold ring, but this is where we've got your ex-wife's DNA. Bam, two pieces of evidence to tie two murders together in a nice little package with a bow for the district attorney."

  Dykes put the baggie down on top of the bag with the gun in it. There was a knock on the door. Dykes got up and answered it. He and another uniform officer exchanged some words. Dykes returned while the officer waited at the door, keeping it ajar with his foot. Dykes picked up the two baggies and then handed them to the officer. The officer disappeared and the door closed behind him.

  Dykes came and sat back down. He pulled out his police notebook and jotted something down. Most likely chain of custody transfer. He closed it up and put it back in his inside jacket pocket. Then he looked back at Gilder.

  "Where were we?" he asked. "Ah, I remember. The reason the three of us is here at this drama, this... tragedy, is to understand the plot."

  Gilder didn't say anything, his head hung down and every so often he lifted it which seemed like a huge effort and looked at Dykes. Dykes gave him time. He let silence creep into the room like invisible carbon monoxide. But Gilder was happy with it. I got the sense he almost embraced the silence like a petulant child.

  "So," said Dykes. It was a question. Gilder looked up at him.

  "So what?"

  "So why'd you kill Ensor? Why did you kill your ex?"

  Gilder looked down. Then he yanked at the bar with his handcuffs, and looked back at Dykes.

  "She wasn't my fucking ex. That stupid cunt was my wife, and she thought she could leave me. Nobody leaves me," he shouted.

  I looked at him and grinned. It wasn't nice, but sometimes I'm just along to poke the bears and smack the beehives. Clearly here was a guy with abandonment issues.

  "I still don't get it. Help me like I'm stupid," said Dykes. "You and Celia..."

  "Corinne, her fucking name's Corinne."

  Dykes nodded and smiled at him.

  "Corinne. Tell me why you killed her when you and her were on a sweet ride bilking the baseball player?"

  Gilder looked down and shook his head.

  "Man, if I'd meant to have killed her I woulda used the gun, okay? Fuck, it wasn't supposed to happen like that. The whole thing went to shit and she started trying to get out of the deal. We had a deal. We had a fucking deal, me and her. She shoulda just fucking listened to me."

  Gilder trailed off, shaking his head slowly.

  "Let me try swing for the fences," I said. "See if I can knock this out of the park."

  Gilder and Dykes turned to look at me.

  "Your old lady leaves you because you're an asshole. You beat your wife. I can understand why'd she'd have enough of a prick like you."

  Gilder looked at me and squinted.

  "It wasn't like that. She asked for it. The bitch was an arrogant, entitled cunt who thought she was better 'an me. Thought she was better 'an all of us."

  "You eat food and kiss babies with that mouth?" I asked rhetorically. "I can see how charming you must be for the ladies."

  Gilder ignored me.

  "But still, let me see if I can get this straight. Corinne leaves you to try and find a decent life."

  "We had a decent life," he interjected halfheartedly.

  "But you catch up with her and you put the squeeze on her. I'm thinking you probably threatened to kill her if she didn't go along with you, am I right?"

  "Fuck you. You don't know shit about me. You're just a dumb fucking cocksucker. I've known your type."

  "That so," I said. "And what type is that?"

  "The type who's mother's I fuck and leave crying on the wet sheets."

  He shouldn't have said that. I love my mother. More than that she's still alive. And there isn't a human being alive who can get away with talking trash about her. I turned to my left and casually turned off the recorder. Then I walked up to him to real quiet and jabbed him in the nose with my left. His head flicked back reactively and I was just waiting for it to come on back. As it did I smacked him across his left cheek with a hard right. Hurt my hand but I wasn't complaining. I grabbed him with my right hand by the back of the head and crashed his head into the goddamn metal table. I broke his nose. I'm not gonna lie, I wanted to break more than his nose. I might have knocked him out. I wasn't sure.

  Before I could think of other things Jackson had grabbed my left arm from behind. Dykes was coming round too.

  "Take it easy, AC," said Jackson, "take it easy."

  I shrugged my shoulders and took a deep breath. Dykes was in front of me and in front of Gilder. He looked me in the eyes.

  "You need to take a time out?"

  I shook my head.

  "No, I'm good now. Just a family thing."

  Dykes put his hand on my right shoulder.

  "You sure?"

  I nodded.

  "'Cos I can't let you do that again," he said.

  I nodded again and walked back to the wall were I leaned against it to give it strength. What I got was a sore shoulder. Dykes stayed where he was for a moment looking at me.

  "I'm good," I said. "He probably isn't."

  Dykes turned around and looked at him. Gilder was slowly lifting up his head. He was dazed. Blood dripped from his nose steadily creating a little maroon pool on the matte aluminum table like a spilt Bordeaux. Jackson walked out of the room. Dykes helped Gilder sit up and put his nose back. He took out a handkerchief he had and wiped up some of the blood from Gilder's nose. It was awful kind of him. I wouldn't have gone anywhere near that asshole. Never know what kind of disease he's carrying.

  Jackson came back with a lot of paper towel. A clump of it was wet. He also carried a box of tissues under his arm. He dropped the tissues on the table. He took some of the wet paper towel and mopped up the spilt blood on the table. He used some dry paper towel to clean it further. He gave the rest of the wet towel to Dykes. Dykes used it wipe up the blood on Gilder's nose and around his mouth. He placed it back into the clump that Jackson held out with his one hand. Jackson left with the paper towel. Gilder was moaning and crying and shaking his head slowly.

  "What the fuck, man, what the fuck," he kept saying.

  "Listen to me," said Dykes. "Listen to me, goddamnit."

  Dykes waited for a moment until Gilder settled down. Gilder looked at him out of the corner of his eye with his head tilted back, his hands held in prayer by the table.

  "I'm gonna uncuff you. But don't be stupid. Alright?"

  Dykes looked at Gilder sternly. Gilder nodded. He didn't look at me. Dykes uncuffed him. He passed the box of tissues towards him. Gilder steadied his head. He inhaled thickly through his nose. You could hear the clotting blood dislodge into the back of his throat. He swallowed. He wasn't happy about it.

  "Don't blow your nose," said Dykes. "Just dab at it."

  Jackson came back in with a plastic cup of water. He pushed it over by Gilder. Gilder took a sip. Jackson also had some damp paper towel with what looked like ice in it. He handed it Gilder. Dykes and Jackson looked at me. I could tell what they were thinking. I might have messed up this whole case. But I didn't think I did. We had enough evidence without a confession. But I had a feeling that those couple of blows might've loosened Gilder's tongue.

  "Maybe a smoke will make him feel better," I said, looking at Dykes and Jackson. Dykes nodded slowly after a while.

  I pulled my pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of my shirt. I tapped one out and leaned in to offer it to Gilder. He shook his head.

  "Don't be like that," I said, pushing the pack closer towards him. "You don't talk about my mother and we're gonna get along just swell."

  He looked at me with hurt in his eyes. I didn't feel it. He would've gotten worse if we'd just been on the street or in a bar. Slowly he took a cigarette. I took one with my mouth out of the pack and put it away. I reached into my right pocket and took out a bookle
t of matches I'd taken from the Nite Owl. I tore off a match and struck it on the backside. I lit Gilder's cigarette and then I lit another.

  With his one hand, Gilder smoked his cigarette. With the other he kept dabbing at his nose.

  "I think you busted my nose, asshole," he said to me. I let him have that one.

  "I did," I said. "And I figure the best way to get it fixed is to talk to us about what happened. Talk to us in a decent manner. Use your polite words."

  I paused and looked at him. I looked at him hard through eyes like marble. He looked away.

  "Or I swear to God I will tear out that tongue you don't know how to use."

  I stared at him. He wouldn't look at me.

  "Nod if you understand me."

  He gave a couple of quick tentative nods. He put the smoke in his mouth and took a long drag. He put the tissue on the table in front of him and picked up the paper towel with the ice in it. He held his head back a bit and placed the iced paper towel over the bridge of his nose. That was smart thinking.

  There was a knock at the door and Lane came in. He was clearly upset. He peeked in and curled his finger towards him, aiming at Dykes. Dykes walked round Gilder and out the room. I couldn't hear what they were saying. But I figured I was about to get booted out of the room. A few minutes later Dykes came back in followed by Lane. Lane looked at me, and he was smiling his big easy smile.

  "You and I can watch from the other room," he said. It wasn't a suggestion. I nodded. I put my cigarette out on the metal table and walked out. I followed Lane out the one door and in through the other. We were in a darker room. It was more of a rectangular closet. There was nothing in it. Lane was looking out the one way mirror into room zero forty-two. His arms were folded over his chest. He was still immaculately dressed. He didn't look at me.

  "I'd be sending you home if we weren't just about done," he said.

  I didn't say anything to that. It wasn't a question.

  "We don't do police work like that around here. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  I wanted to say I wasn't loved enough by my mother. That I had anger problems.

  "Just having a bad day," I said, not looking at him either.