12-Scam

by Parnell Hall

“I CAN’T BELIEVE HE DID THAT.”

  MacAullif crinkled up his nose. “What are you, a moron? Everything gotta smack you in the face?” He picked up a cigar, waved it as if it were a pointer. “If it looks like a snake, rattles like a snake, has fangs like a snake, and bites like a snake, once in a while you have to consider the possibility it might be a snake.”

  “I’m not disputing the fact he did it. I’m just saying it blows my mind.”

  “A loud fart blows your mind. Let’s not go overboard.”

  “MacAullif—”

  “You had no problem believing he planted the gun. Where’s your problem believing this?”

  “I don’t have a problem believing this. I know he did it. Still—”

  “Still what? You are the most convoluted fuck I ever met. Can’t anything ever be simple and straightforward?”

  “All I’m saying is, the gun was different.”

  “How?”

  “The gun he can do himself. He finds the gun, he hides it. He questions me, he finds my car, he plants the gun inside. Hard to believe a cop would do that, but take a crooked cop with a motivation, that’s exactly what he’d do. But this other thing—with the fingerprints—to have faked that.”

  “You can’t fake a fingerprint.”

  “You know what I mean. If that’s my fingerprint—and why would he say it was if it wasn’t—unless he’s just trying to spook me all over the place. But why he would pull a bluff that wouldn’t pan out …”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “Trust me, he wouldn’t. It’s not in character. The guy hates to lose. Even something like that. He wouldn’t put himself in the position where he’d have to eventually concede it wasn’t so.”

  “Fine. So say that’s my fingerprint. Then the only way it gets on that desk is that afternoon when I sat there going through resume photos.”

  “Of course.”

  “Which means that picture was taken some time after that.”

  “Right again.”

  “And then integrated with the crime-scene photos. That’s the part that blows my mind. Either this guy had access to the crime-scene evidence, or there are other officers involved.”

  MacAullif cocked his head. “That’s your problem?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Let me tell you a little story.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No, no. It’s short.”

  “That’s not what bothers me.”

  “I know. I know. But the facts are the facts. You recall me mentioning a cop named Martinez?”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “That’s right. Seems the guy got into a little bit of trouble. Hard to imagine, officer of his stature, but there you are. Anyway, I said I’d keep it short, so the short version is he got shot.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah. Not that unusual. Cops sometimes get shot. But the circumstances are weird. The way I hear it, he got shot in a drug sting. Nothing strange there—happens a lot. Only thing is, rumor has it he’s the one bein’ stung.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. As to who shot him, big question there, still unresolved because the evidence happened to walk.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Bullet pulled out of his left thigh somehow disappears between the hospital and the precinct.”

  “No shit.”

  “None.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “The idea is they can’t match up the gun that shot him.”

  “I know that. I mean why?”

  “This is all speculation.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Might have been a cop.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” MacAullif put up his hand. “You understand it didn’t have to be. But the bottom line is, Martinez is involved in a drug shootout with every indication he was on the wrong side. Whether he was shot by a cop—and that’s a big secret—or shot by one of his pals that he’s scared enough of to want to protect—” MacAullif broke off, shrugged. “It gets pretty convoluted when you’re not sure who the good guys are. I was tryin’ to make this short. The bottom line is, Martinez shot in the leg, now walks with a limp, and pulls desk duty. Wanna guess where?”

  My eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”

  “So talk about evidence that jumps around rings a big double bell. It reminds me that Martinez once had evidence jump around on him. And, irony of ironies, the evidence room happens to be where the son of bitch is workin’ now.”

  I exhaled. Could think of nothing to say.

  MacAullif cocked his head. Looked at me. “You don’t look too good.”

  “I don’t feel too good. Jesus Christ, MacAullif, what the hell do I do?”

  “Well, like I said before, you don’t try to prove what you know. You don’t start pointing fingers and screaming frame. Because the two of them will just pull back and lay low and you won’t be able to prove a thing. Which means the evidence will stand up, leaving you in a slightly unenviable position.”

  I blinked. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say do nothing, I said do nothing stupid. At least now you know the way the wind blows.”

  “Big help.”

  “Hey, it’s something. The way you tell it, you’re down at the office talkin’ to the witnesses, the cops pull you in to Belcher, he hits you with the fingerprint. Is that right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “He gives you a song and dance about messin’ around the crime scene. Then he slaps you with the fingerprint evidence, tells you if you keep messin’ in the case, that’s what you’re gonna get.”

  “That helps me?”

  “It tells you one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s not like he said. That he mocked up fingerprint evidence against you because you were messin’ with the crime scene. If he had it with him, he faked the damn thing long before you went to call on those people.”

  “I know that. So?”

  “So, it’s not just cause and effect. These guys are out to frame you from the word go.”

  “MacAullif. You’re not making my day.”

  “Maybe not, but it helps to have the danger defined. If it looks like a snake, you might as well know if it is a snake.”

  “It’s a snake, MacAullif. Jesus, can you drop out of your lecture mode long enough to help me out here?”

  “Advice? You’re tellin’ me you want advice?”

  “I want anything I can get. Frankly, I’m very close to a nervous breakdown and I’m not thinking as clear as I should.”

  “Yeah, but for you that’s normal.” MacAullif put up his hand. “Okay, okay. Sorry about that, but the first advice I could give you is, lighten up. It’s not like the charge is gonna stick. These guys are trying to hassle you, that’s all.”

  “They’re doing a good job.”

  “I know. And you wanna fight back, which is natural. The problem is, you can’t do it. That’s what I keep tellin’ you, and that’s why you’re goin’ nuts. You gotta let go of it. You gotta say, this is something I can’t deal with, I gotta find something I can.”

  “Like what?”

  “The crime. It’s like what I was sayin’ to you before. Belcher says, in effect, You mess around at the crime scene, I’ll frame you with the fingerprints. But that’s not the case. He’s framin’ you anyway, no matter what you do. So you don’t worry about that. You wanna investigate, go ahead and investigate.”

  “It’s not just that. He also said he’d use the fact I was messing around to get my bail revoked.”

  “He can’t do it,” MacAullif said. “He’s got no clout with the judge. Best he can do is put a bug in some ADA’s ear. Between you and me, there aren’t that many be inclined to listen. No, you wanna investigate, you investigate.”

  “Investigate what, though? What more can I do?”

  MacAullif made a face. “Jesus. You want me to do all your work for you? Some detective. I�
��m not even involved, and I know more than you.”

  “I told you I’m not thinking straight.”

  “You’re not thinkin’ at all. You’re wallowing in self-pity, and bitchin’ about bein’ framed.”

  “On account of you,” I said. “I’m being set up and framed on account of a cop hates you.”

  “So, I owe you,” MacAullif said. He shook his head. “It seems like I always owe you. Don’t it? Okay, let’s take a look at the case.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “About as much as you do. Which isn’t a whole hell of a lot. Which tells me one thing. You gotta go way back to the beginning and ask yourself why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Exactly. Why anything? You got a guy comes to you, tells you he’s bein’ set up. Asks you to find out who did it. When you do, the evidence points to the fact he did it himself. Unfortunately, you cannot question him on this because he is dead. Ditto the woman he set the thing up with. The question arises, did this thing happen at all? Apparently so, because it is confirmed by the bartender, who states that your client was in the bar drinking with this girl. The girl herself confirms this, but her story is suspect. Why? Because when she told it, the principals were alive. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  MacAullif nodded, pursed his lips. “One wonders what she might say now that they’re dead.”

  38.

  YOU WANNA FEEL REALLY STUPID some time, try ringing people’s doorbells lookin’ for a girl with big tits. That’s not exactly how I phrased it, but that’s what I was doing, and it didn’t feel good. Particularly since I had it in the back of my mind that not finding a girl with big tits was likely to get me convicted of murder.

  However, having failed to find the girl’s resume photo, I had just one lead. Well, actually two. No, I don’t mean her tits. Not exactly.

  One lead was the topless bar. Which was a washout. The girl had been hired through the agent, she was paid through the agent, they did not have an address or phone number on her, or even a name other than Marla Melons.

  Of course, she had not been to work since the murder. If she had the cops would have found her. The fact they hadn’t was unsettling at best.

  That left me with my other lead. She had taken a taxi to Third Avenue and 85th Street. Presumably she was going home. And she hadn’t given the taxi driver her exact address, probably a standard precaution after an unfortunate experience. Anyway, that’s how I saw it. She was going home, and she told the driver 85th and Third.

  I had a further clue. She’d stopped on the northeast corner of Third Avenue and 85th. The way that figured, her apartment was either right there on Third Avenue, or—and this seemed more likely—was on the north side of 85th Street between Second and Third Avenue, and closer to Third. Why? Because 85th Street is one-way going west. So she couldn’t have had the cab turn onto 85th even if she’d wanted to. So, if she lived closer to Second, she’d have had the cab go around the block—up Third Avenue to 86th, across and down Second to 85th.

  Anyway, from where she had the cab stop, I had to figure her apartment was on the north side of 85th, not too far from Third. So there I was, ringing bells.

  Which, actually, didn’t take that long.

  At the fourth building from the corner, the super said, “Sure, I know her. What’s this all about?”

  “She may be a witness in a case,” I said. I’d already shown him my ID.

  The super, middle-aged, balding, and fat, was affable on the one hand, and not about to piss off his favorite big-titted tenant on the other. “So you say,” he said. “You can ring her bell, and if she wants to talk to you, fine. And if she don’t, you don’t. Is that okay with you?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  There was a row of buttons inside the front door. I’d already pressed the one marked Super. Now I pressed the one marked 3B.

  There was no answer.

  “I guess she’s not at home,” the super said.

  “Uh-huh. You seen her lately?”

  He frowned. “Now that you mention it, can’t say as I have.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “You got a key?”

  He did, but it was no go. There was nothing I could say that was going to make him open that door.

  I went to a pay phone, called MacAullif.

  Who wasn’t glad to hear from me. “Are you nuts?” he said. “You’re bringin’ this to me?”

  “I gotta get in there.”

  “Sure you do. But with me? If it’s pay dirt, we’re both up shit creek. So far I got no connection to the case except I show up at the first murder scene. All that establishes is the fact I know you—which is enough to fry your ass—but it don’t really involve me. But we go bustin’ in there, find the girl, there’ll be hell to pay. Suddenly it’s a fuckin’ conspiracy thing, and I’m lucky if I’m not co-defendant.”

  “MacAullif—”

  “If you think a little, you’ll know you don’t want me bustin’ down any doors.”

  “So I should call Belcher?”

  “Not unless you got a death wish. Try nine one one. It’s impersonal, plus you don’t gotta look it up.”

  I did, but it wasn’t that easy. The cops weren’t about to break down the door on my say-so. Not that they’d have to break it down, with the super having a key, but all the same. No one was going in without an explanation.

  I tried, believe me I tried, to tap dance around the situation, but the long and the short of it was, ten minutes after I started talking there came a squeal of brakes and Sergeant Belcher pulled up in front. He hadn’t had the same problem as the young lady’s taxi—he’d come up Third Avenue and turned onto 85th despite the fact it was one-way.

  Belcher was out of the car before it even stopped moving, strode across the pavement to where the cops and the super and I waited on the front steps.

  “All right, asshole,” he said. “This had better be good.”

  It was.

  In a manner of speaking.

  It was her.

  And she was dead.

  39.

  THE CRIME-SCENE UNIT GOT there fast. It was almost as if Belcher’d had ’em on standby the whole time. They came roaring up in their police cars, parked insolently in the middle of the street, and went in. The medical examiner, more discreet, left his car near a handy fireplug.

  The police cars drew a crowd. Of course, with the cops all inside there was nothing to see. The people milled around on the sidewalk, talking to themselves, looking at the police cars, looking at the building where the cops had gone, and occasionally looking at me.

  I was in the back of Belcher’s car. The minute he found the girl, Belcher had dragged me out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out to his car, where he had handcuffed me in the back seat before phoning it in. The handcuff went around my right wrist, through a metal bar in the door, and around my left wrist. The cuffs were tight, the bar in the door was about an inch thick. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  I sat in the back seat, reflecting on what I’d just seen.

  The girl had been crumpled on the floor in the living room of her apartment. She’d apparently been shot in the chest. The light yellow pullover she was wearing was stained with blood. The bullet had penetrated one enormous breast and entered her heart.

  It occurred to me that was quite a feat.

  A half hour later Belcher came out. He opened the door, slid in next to me on the back seat. Too bad. I’d have preferred him in the front, with the metal screen between us. Still, it didn’t seem a good time to argue.

  “Okay,” Belcher said. “Consider yourself Mirandized. No one’s taking this down, but it’s no excuse to get cute. Anything you say could dork you, and probably will. On the other hand, you have the right to remain silent. Should you choose to exercise that right, I will beat the living shit out of you. You got it?”

  “That seems fairly clear,” I said, and wished to hell I was wearing a wire. It was the first time Belcher’d eve
r let the facade slip. Flat out told it like it was. After waiting so long to hear it, it was almost a relief.

  “Good,” Belcher said. “Now, I want a straight answer. How’d you happen to find the girl?”

  “Just detective work.”

  Belcher’s face darkened. “I said a straight answer.”

  “You did, and that’s it. I found her through detective work. I deduced where she was. You want me to tell you how I did it?”

  “I would strongly advise it.”

  I jerked my thumb. “The night I followed her home she took a cab to that corner. I figured she either lived on Third, or a few doors in on 85th. I figured the cab didn’t turn on 85th ’cause it was one-way. I figured she lived on the north side of the street, ’cause the cab stopped on the northeast corner. I figured she had to live closer to Third, or she’d have had the cab go around to Second.”

  Belcher blinked. “You expect me to buy that?”

  “I don’t expect anything. I’m just telling you what happened.”

  “How come you don’t remember any of this the first time you told your story?”

  “Not a case of remembering. I told all the facts before. This is just what I figured out from them.”

  “Oh, sure,” Belcher said. “Days later you make this miraculous deduction. What happened, you figure it was time we found the body?”

  “I figured it was time we found the girl. I had no way of knowing she was dead.”

  “No, of course not,” Belcher said. “Super says you asked if he’d seen her lately. You implied there was something wrong and asked him to open the door.”

  “He hadn’t seen her lately. And she hadn’t been to work.”

  “So you decided she was dead?”

  “Or skipped out. In which case, she was probably involved.”

  “Right,” Belcher said, sarcastically. “You thought she’d skipped out. You were hopin’ to get into her apartment to find some signs of flight.”

  “Frankly, that would have been a relief. I was afraid of something like this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was involved in the scam. And everyone involved in the scam is dead.”

  “What scam?”

  “I have no idea.”