It took four men to get Kramer out of the aquarium and onto to the floor. I stood back and watched as Doc Sorenson probed the poor dead mouth. Nothing. He moved on to the next logical orifice and extracted a cylindrical tube.
“I assume the note is inside,” I said.
“Probably. You want to check?” he asked holding it out.
“No bloody way. Not until that thing is boiled.”
“You wuss,” he said handing me a pair of gloves.
He took it over to the sink and ran hot water over it for several seconds and then poured bleach over it. After he dried it he unscrewed the end and removed a folded note. It appeared to be written in the same handwriting as another notes. I read the note again not having a clue as to what it really meant. It mentioned skulls and lawyers. That was enough to make me shiver.
“Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillities, his cases, his tenure, and his tricks?”
“What the hell are quiddities and quillities? For that matter what is a tenure?” I said to Sorenson.
“How the hell do I know? I think quiddities comes from Latin. It means something like arguments. You know, legal arguments lawyers make. You’re going to have to look that other stuff up. I don’t know much about this crap,” he said.
“Did you happen to take a look at the guy downstairs?” I asked, placing the note in an evidence bag and sealing it.
“Just a quick peek. He was stabbed through the heart, I’m guessing with a stiletto or something like that. It was a very thin blade.”
“A sword?” I asked.
“Maybe, but who in the world runs around with a sword now days?”
“Zorro?”
“Zorro my aching butt,” he said.
“That’s an image I can do without. You ready to take Mr. Kramer away yet?” I asked.
“Nothing more I can do here. I’ll take at a look at the guy downstairs on my way out,” the doc said.
“His name is Oscar Pyle,” I told him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When I got downstairs I could see a horde of reporters gathered around the entrance of the building. We may have been lucky on the first two but they were all over this one. I briefly thought about going out the back way but decided that would only add fuel to the fire so I opened the door and stepped into the lion’s den. Rather than just saying ‘no comment’ I decided to try to answer some of the less inane questions.
“Are there two murders this time?”
“Yes.”
“Are they related?”
“I don’t think they were brothers.”
“Ha-ha Bartoni. You know what I mean.”
“We don’t know for sure but I doubt it. The doorman may have been a collateral victim.”
“What were the names of the victims?”
“We can’t release that until the next of kin have been notified.”
“Was it Andrew Kramer?”
“Who?” I said.
“Andrew Kramer. He has a lot of enemies from what we were told?”
“Really? I don’t know anything about that. Sorry.”
“So, you’re saying it wasn’t Kramer?”
“That is correct. I’m not saying it was Kramer.”
Hey, that was no lie. I didn’t say it was him. It’s one of those Clinton things. It depends on your definition of it.
“Was one of the murders related to the other three?” Liz asked.
Ah, now that was the real question wasn’t it?
“Yes. We have reason to believe it was.”
“So the killer is leaving something behind something that links him to the murders?”
“Not exactly, but along those lines.”
“And you’re not willing to share that with the viewers?”
“To what end? How would that help? How would that make anyone feel safer? Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do,” I said and shoved my way through the crowd.
They were still yelling out questions when I started the car and drove off.
* * *
We were huddled together around my desk eating fast food that we had sent out for. Nothing quite like a cold hamburger to dull your appetite.
“So, what do we really know?” I asked.
“We don’t know Jack,” Dan said, tossing his half eaten burger on the desk.
“Not true, we know a few things,” I said.
“Well, by all means, enlighten us,” Dan said sarcastically.
“Listen and learn,” I said taking a handful of his fries.
“Hey.”
“A smart woman must have sustenance,” I said pulling a tattered notepad from my coat pocket.
“Mr. Farley was not all he appeared to be. By that I mean he wasn’t exactly universally loved, but then who among us is? It seems a lot of people thought he was an arrogant prick and would bleed the last nickel out of you if he got half a chance. He wasn’t a crook but he was willing to put the screws to any of his competitors. He put more than a few of them out of business.”
“You have a list of them?” Dan asked.
I shoved a list of names over. He glanced at it and then at Eric.
“Damn. There must be twenty names here.”
“Twenty-two. Others just barely survived by combining forces with other businesses. A lot of people had some very strong words to say about Melvin. One other interesting fact that did turn up while I was talking to McGuire is that Farley closed up a couple of hours early on the last day of the show which is very unlike him. According to everyone, he stays until the very end to make sure he has made every dime possible. Anyway, he closed early. Something about having a chance to buy a very rare…ah hell…I can’t pronounce this damn thing,” I said pushing another piece of paper over to Dan.
“17th Century Pappenheimier Rapier Sword with a Sclaeger blade,” Dan pronounced.
“Easy for you to say,” I quipped.
“Is it valuable?” Eric asked.
“Evidently. I guess the combination of the style and the blade made it rare or at least that’s what I’m told. Worth around thirty thousand or so,” I said.
“Thirty grand for a sword? That’s crazy,” Eric replied.
“I have to agree.”
“You paid twenty-five grand for that Healy of yours,” Dan said.
“That’s a little different.”
“Sure it is. How’s the heater working on these cold winter days?” he asked.
“You don’t get it man,” I said sitting back.
Eric sat back as well and propped his feet up on the desk.
I hated when people did that and he knew it. He was just trying to push my buttons and it was almost working.
“Get your doggone feet off my desk Eric, you know that pisses me off,” I said raising my voice more than I had intended.
“Government property. It ain’t your desk,” he said, smirking.
“Get your frickin feet off my desk or I’ll come around there and knock you on your ass. I mean it.”
“Now boys and girls,” Captain McGregor said from behind me.
He tossed the evening paper on the desk. It was front page news now and it was only going to get worse. VICTIMS THREE AND FOUR was the headline. The phones would start ringing off the hook within the next hour.
“You find anything out about Linda Evans yet?” I asked Eric, who had now taken his feet off my desk.
I didn’t know if it was because of McGregor or because I seriously would have knocked him on his butt. It didn’t really matter to me. Besides I could always make Dan do it for me.
“I don’t have any details yet but like Farley, something is going on. She worked at the Plainfield Farmer’s Credit Union for a couple of years and then suddenly resigned. I haven’t gotten to the bottom of it yet but something happened. She was also at the First Assembly of Plainfield United Church for about the same length of time but was asked to step down. I’m working on both and hope to have something solid soon.�
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“So really, none of our victims are quite what they seemed. We already know that Kramer was a slime bag so maybe all of this has to do with someone getting revenge. We need to dig deeper into the past of all three of our victims,” I said.
“What about the doorman?” the captain asked.
“I think he just happened to get in the way and the poor guy paid the price. I don’t think he is connected in the same way,” I replied.
“We need solid evidence,” McGregor said.
Like we didn’t already know that.
“We need to see if all three of them had the same lawyer. The note mentioned a lawyer and that is probably our next victim,” I pointed out.
“Then get off your butts and get to work,” McGregor said.
Wow. What a genius. If he hadn’t of thought of that it is no telling how long we would have just sat there staring off into space. What a dork he is at times.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I know you don’t want to talk about it but she is dead and we are trying to find out who killed her,” Dan said.
“I can assure you I had nothing to do with Linda Evans.”
“All I want to know is why she suddenly left her job her at the credit union. Something happened. Now I don’t want to pull a bunch of your employees off the job and question them. It would disrupt work and in a small area like this it would cause all kinds of rumors. I came to you first so you could keep a lid on it. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll have no choice,” he said.
“Look, Linda is dead. That’s punishment enough isn’t it? She was murdered. She can’t pay more dearly that that can she?”
“Just her reputation, and the credit unions,” I replied. The president of the credit union sat back down in his chair and sighed. It had been almost ten years ago and he thought this was all behind them. Now it was all coming back like a festering boil. He ran his hand over his balding head and took his glasses off and laid them on the desk.
“Have seat detectives,” he said, gesturing to a large burgundy overstuffed leather chair.
I figured it cost more than my Healy.
“When Linda first came to work here we thought we had died and gone to heaven. She was a real dynamo. She took on as much work as we could pile on and in those days it was plenty. We were fairly new and very short handed. She did just about everything. I depended on her for almost every aspect of the daily operations. She was smart too. People that came in here loved her. She could remember every name, something about their kids and all kinds of details. Frankly she helped us grow from just another bank to what we are today, one of the largest holding companies in the tri-state area. Not bad for a small burg like this.”
“But something happened along the way.”
“Yes,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
He laid his head back on his massive chair and looked up at the ceiling.
Finally he said, “About three years after she was here we had an outside firm come in and do an audit. It was unannounced. Only I and the board of directors knew about it. Everything seemed to be fine until one auditor just happened to ask what the Aston Fund was. I said I wasn’t sure. So he did some more checking. It turns out that for over two years a check had been made out to the Aston Fund for eight hundred and fifty dollars each week. Then it went to nine hundred and fifty dollars and finally twelve hundred dollars a week. All had been signed by Linda Evans. Now the fact that Linda signed checks was not so unusual. She signed many of the routine daily operational checks, utilities, repairs, postage, and that sort of thing. This was something I had never heard of. Alarm bells started going off. The total amount came to one hundred and nine thousand eight-hundred and fifty dollars.
“What did you do about it?”
“Nothing. The board decided it was better to just get rid of her rather than drag this out in front of the community. They felt it would do damage more serious to our reputation,” he said.
“Did she pay the money back?”
“No. She said it was gone. That she had been giving it to charity.”
“And you believed her?”
“Not for a minute but what was I going to do? I know that sounds like a lot of money but in the banking world it really isn’t. Our reputation is everything and it is certainly worth more than a hundred thousand dollars.”
“So she just walked.”
“She just walked,” he said.
“Man, I sure would like to work for you,” Dan said.
“If it makes you feel any better, we wouldn’t do the same thing today. We are financial stable now and could withstand the negative publicity. It wouldn’t hurt our reputation like it would have back then. We would prosecute today.”
“That’s comforting to know,” I said, “I appreciate your telling us about it.”
“Will all of this come out?”
“I’m not sure. You never know what will happen in a murder case.”
* * *
“Mr. Icerman, you sold the whatever it’s called to Melvin Farley, is that right?”
“The Pappenheimier Rapier. Yes I did. It was quite magnificent. If Farley is complaining about it authenticity he is a damn liar. I can prove it is the genuine article.”
“When did you see Mr. Farley last?” Barry asked
“When I sold him the sword. The eighteenth. No, it was the nineteenth, I remember him asking the date. He wanted to give me a check. Like I would take a check for that amount of money. I don’t care who he thinks he is.”
“And what happened exactly?”
“What do you mean? He came, looked at the sword, we haggled over the price and then he paid and left.”
“Haggled over the price? What does that mean?” Dan asked.
“He is such a crook. He offered me fifteen thousand for it. Fifteen thousand for a 17th century Pappenheimier. Does he think I was born yesterday?”
“And you said?”
“Forget it. No way. It was forty thousand or nothing.”
“And?”
“He said that he knew that I was about to declare bankruptcy and unless I came up with eighteen thousand dollars within the next week I would go under. I don’t know how he found that out. It almost floored me.”
“So it was true?”
“Eighteen thousand one hundred and eleven dollars to be precise.”
“And then what?”
“I tried to bluff but he said as a favor to me he would go twenty thousand for it. I tried to get him to go at least thirty but the bastard wouldn’t budge. I had no choice. I sold it for half of what it was worth. He is a rotten son of you know what and I hope he rots in hell someday,” Icerman said.
“And you never saw him again?”
“No. Why are you asking me that?”
“You don’t know?”
“I have no idea. Did something happen to him?”
“He was murdered.”
Icerman turned three shades lighter. His eyes glazed over and he looked like he was going to faint.
“You gonna’ be okay?” Dan asked.
“God. I just said some terrible things about him. Oh, please forgive me. I didn’t know he was dead. I hope you don’t think I did this? I mean he was a mean man but I would never kill anyone,” he said.
“I’m going to need you to come down to the station and give a statement. You don’t need to do it just now but in the next day or so. If I don’t hear from you I’ll have to come looking for you and you won’t like that very much,” I warned.
“I’ll be down. I have nothing to hide. Believe me, I didn’t much care for the man but I certainly didn’t kill him. I can’t believe what I said. Oh dear,” he said shaking his head.
“That’s all for now Mr. Icerman. Remember what I said. Get down to the station pronto.”
“Oh, I will. I will. I promise.”
* * *
While the Dan and Eric were tracking down leads I was at Kramer’s condo going through drawers, cabinets, and potential hiding
places. He had a large safe behind a painting on the front room wall. How original. No one would ever think to look there.
I flipped on the large screen plasma television and realized I was looking at myself. Cute. I wondered how many cameras there were in the joint and if they were hooked to a recorder. If they were we might have just gotten lucky. I called CSI and asked them to get their butts back over here. I sat watching the empty fish tank and wondering what the hell was wrong with this nut job and why was he killing these people? It had to be more than just random.
In my gut I believed the key was the lawyer and until we found out who that was, we weren’t going to catch this guy. Was the lawyer to be the last of his victims or where there others and he was just the next one? Was I just going crazier than usual about the whole thing? That is always a distinct possibility.
The CSI tech team arrived and I had sufficiently worked up an attitude by the time they came into the room.
“Did any of you brilliant people happen to realize that the television was connected to a closed circuit system?” I asked.
There were blank stares all around. I walked over to the TV and turned it on. The Turner Classic Channel was showing an old black and white movie. I pulled back a ways and flipped the channel. I went through each channel and found nothing.
“What the hell? When I turned it on I was looking at myself,” I said in astonishment.
They were looking at each other like I had finally lost it.
“Bartoni, we checked the TV. We always check the televisions. All of them,” one of them said.
“I’m telling you. When I turned it on, all I got was a picture of myself. How could that be?”
“Uh…maybe it was just your reflection,” one of them suggested.
“It wasn’t my reflection. It was me. I saw me on there,” I said, gesturing first to me and then the TV screen.
“Can’t help you Bartoni,” one of them said.
“What about the safe?”
“What about it? We have all of the contents bagged and labeled down at the station. It’s on the inventory sheet that was sent to your office.”
I stood there looking like a jackass. I couldn’t have felt any dumber. I let my head drop and looked down at the floor. What in the hell was going on?
THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS Page 6
