Rough Justice: Three Ben Kincaid Stories (The Ben Kincaid Anthology Series)

by William Bernhardt

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  “As I said before, it’s too soon to–”

  “What’s the cause of death?”

  “There is a bullet wound to the abdomen, near the heart. But I can’t say–”

  “What about the time of death?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Was she killed here?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Did she know her attacker?”

  “Can’t say.”

  Baxter got right up in his face. “Look, Doctor, we’re investigating a murder here–the murder of a beautiful young girl who as far as we know never hurt anyone. Most crimes are solved in the first six hours–if they’re solved at all. So we need to know everything you can possibly tell us. Right now.”

  Barkley batted his eyelashes, as if the pool bully had splashed water in his face. “I guess there’s one thing I can tell you about this...beautiful young girl.”

  “What’s that?”

  The barest glimmer of a smile flickered across his face. “She’s a he.”

  *****

  Baxter looked as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. “What are you talking about? There’s no way–”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.” Barkley flipped up the sheet covering the body, then replaced it. “I’ll have him taken to my office as soon as your forensic teams finish scouring the crime scene.”

  Morelli was just as stunned as Baxter, but he would never let it show.

  “Well?” she said. “What do you think?”

  “I think we’d better have another talk with Mr. Farnum.”

  *****

  Morelli squared himself in front of Farnum, contemplating how to proceed. He made half a dozen false starts, searching for the right words to broach the elephant now in the room. Farnum had referred to Kim as ‘her.’ Did he think they wouldn’t find out? Was he too embarrassed to mention it? Or did the man really not know the truth?

  He coughed into his hand, clearing his throat. “Mr. Farnum...uh...you say you’ve known Kim Masters almost seven months?”

  “Right. Since that first night I brought her home.”

  “And that was the first night you spotted Kim in your club?”

  “Oh, no. I admired her from afar for weeks before I spoke to her.”

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  “I don’t know. I was hesitant. I have some...personal eccentricities. I’ve learned to choose my companions carefully.”

  Morelli and Baxter exchanged a glance.

  “Is there something wrong?” Farnum asked. “Something about Kim? My God–what did they do to her?”

  Her.

  Farnum didn’t know. He was certain of it. No one could keep up a charade this long or this well. Farnum had been with her for months, but he didn’t know.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No...not wrong...exactly...” Morelli’s eyes scanned the heavens. “You did say, didn’t you, that you and Kim Masters had a sexual relationship?”

  “I don’t see that that’s any of your concern.”

  “Believe me, if it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t ask.”

  Farnum folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, we did. What of it?”

  “And...did you...” He wiped his hand across his brow. “Do you mind if I ask what exactly it was you two did?”

  Farnum’s face tightened. “Not at all. Right after you tell me what you and your wife did in bed last night.”

  “I’m divorced,” he mumbled.

  “All right then. You and your girlfriend. You and your plastic blow-up doll. Whatever.”

  “You’ve made your point.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “Look–”

  “Major Morelli,” Farnum said. “I’ve lost the only woman I’ve ever loved. I am not in the mood for games. If you have something you want to tell me–then tell me.”

  He slowly drew air into his lungs. “The only woman you’ve ever loved...”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s a man.”

  Farnum’s reaction could not have been much different had he hit the man in the face with a brick. Many moments passed before Farnum whispered, “What?”

  “It’s true. The coroner confirmed it. She’s a man.”

  “But–this isn’t possible.”

  “I’m afraid it is. You have to understand–there are a lot of drag queens out on the Peoria strip. I’ve heard the boys in Vice say one person in ten in those clubs is a cross-dresser.”

  “I’ve had drag queens in my club since the day it opened. No matter how good they were, I could always tell the difference.”

  “Well, I guess this one fooled even you.”

  “But it’s just so incredible. So...impossible. I can’t–I can’t–” And then, all at once, Farnum’s expression altered dramatically.

  He laughed.

  This was even more perplexing than everything else that had happened tonight. “I’m sorry,” Morelli said. “Is there something funny?”

  “It’s all just so...so...” Farnum wiped away the tears crystallizing in the corners of his eyes. “No, not funny exactly. More like ironic.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “Irony. The juxtaposition of unexpected circumstances–”

  “I know what irony is,” he growled. “What I don’t understand is why it’s ironic that your girlfriend turns out to be a man.”

  With a quick, fluid motion, Farnum untucked his shirt and pulled it up, exposing the tight binding wrapped around his abdomen. “Because I’m really a woman.”

  *****

  Two hours later, Morelli cradled a Styrofoam cup filled with hot black coffee while the crime teams did their work. There was something comforting about the feel of the coffee. It might not be much, but at least you knew what it was. It was exactly what you thought it was.

  Baxter came in and poured herself a cup. “What’s the word from headquarters?”

  “DeCarlo flat-out denied ordering Bartello to make the hit.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Actually it does. I thought he would just call his lawyer and refuse to talk.”

  “Maybe you should send over that lawyer buddy of yours.”

  “No point. Ever since his wife had those twin girls, he can’t finish a sentence that doesn’t have ‘goo-goo’ in it.” He held the coffee under his nose, drawing in the rich Kona aroma. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Prescott is picking Bartello up and bringing him here. My informants tell me DeCarlo had a big falling out with Bart the Dart earlier this week. Don’t know why, but DeCarlo totally cut him off. Bart’s been coming around to his place every night, trying to worm his way back into favor. But so far, no luck.”

  “So even if DeCarlo was behind the hit, he wouldn’t have used the Dartman.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “I still want to talk to him.”

  “Figured as much. But aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You said it yourself–if DeCarlo was out to get Farnum, he would’ve gone after Farnum. He wouldn’t have gone after Farnum’s girlfriend. Boyfriend. Whatever.”

  “That’s a problem.” He polished off his coffee. “Thanks for the background info, Kate. I can always count on you to come up with the goods.”

  “Should I be reading in between the lines here?”

  “No. Just saying I know I can count on you. That’s why I like having you for a… partner.”

  “I thought it was my stunning good looks.”

  “That, too.”

  A few minutes later, his nemesis-in-homicide, Major Prescott, arrived at the penthouse apartment bearing Ernie Bartello, a.k.a. Bart the Dart. Prescott had a grudge against him that went back years. Prescott had been removed from an investigation and he had taken over. Worse, he’d had the audacity to solve the case. Prescott had never forgiven him.

  Prescott motioned him aside for a few
pre-interrogation words.

  “So lemme see if I’ve got this straight. Masters was really a man, all dolled up like a woman.”

  “Right.”

  “And he-she was sleeping with Farnum, who was a woman made up like a man.”

  “So it seems.”

  “And neither one knew that their lovemate was not what they appeared to be.”

  “That also appears to be the case.”

  “They were both pretending to be what the other one really was.”

  “By George, I think you’ve got it.”

  “What the hell did they do with each other?”

  He didn’t know if Prescott was being rhetorical, or if the man really expected an answer. At any rate, he wasn’t going to get one.

  “What’s the world coming to?” Prescott muttered. “It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s not disgusting,” he replied. “It’s sad.”

  “Those sick perverts?” Prescott grimaced. “I think you must be sick, too.”

  He did not reply. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a suspect to interrogate.”

  Bartello was a thin man, wiry and tough, exactly the sort of person no one would want to meet alone, unless they were packing a two-megaton rocket launcher. Probably not even then. The tattoo on his forefinger and the small but discernible scar on the left side of his face lent two strong clues to his chosen profession.

  He was going to be the good cop while Prescott played the bad. Typecasting, although Prescott might not see it that way.

  “What do you know about this murder, Bartello?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Did you hit Kim Masters?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Did DeCarlo order you to do it?”

  “DeCarlo? Who’s that?”

  He tried not to clench his teeth. “I want the truth.”

  “Call the psychic hotline.”

  “This job looks like your handiwork.”

  Bartello shrugged. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

  Prescott lurched forward and grabbed the man’s collar. “Don’t screw with us, Bartello. Or so help me–”

  Morelli shook his head. Prescott was so bad at this. Like the man was going to be scared enough to break after twenty seconds of softball questions. “Let’s calm down, everybody. We’re just having a conversation, okay?” He nudged Prescott out of the way. “Bartello, did you know your buddy DeCarlo was bearing a half-million-dollar grudge?”

  “DeCarlo ain’t my buddy. I don’t work for him no more.”

  “I heard a rumor to that effect. What’d you do to tick the boss man off?”

  “I didn’t do nothin’. He’s got no business treatin’ me like this.”

  “There must’ve been something.”

  “It was just one date.”

  Morelli eased back. “One date with whom?”

  Bartello’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sophia.”

  “Sophia DeCarlo? The boss man’s daughter?”

  “And what’s wrong with that? It ain’t like I forced her or nothin’. Hell, all I did was kiss her goodnight.”

  “The boss caught you sucking face with his only daughter and he didn’t like it. So he sent you away before things got out of control.”

  “The man was not rational.”

  “Because he didn’t want his pride-and-joy hooked up with a two-bit hit man? Imagine.”

  “He’s happy enough to have me around when he needs a job done.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you, Bartello? That’s how all the DeCarlos in this world are. When they can use you, they’ll use you. But it doesn’t mean they like you. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you have the slightest chance of making it with his daughter.”

  “May I go now?”

  “What happened tonight when you went to DeCarlo’s place?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Did he give you an assignment?”

  “No.”

  That corresponded with what DeCarlo had said. Unfortunately, Morelli was beginning to think it must be true. “Did he mention Terry Farnum?”

  Bartello answered with a ‘what-the-hell’ wave of the hand. “Yeah. He was ravin’. Shoutin’. On and on. Talkin’ about how Farnum had taken his money and wasn’t payin’ him back. ‘I’m a laughing stock!’ he kept sayin’. ‘This tramp has to be eliminated!’ But he didn’t ask me to do it. He wouldn’t lower himself to deal with the likes of me anymore.”

  “No, you were–” Morelli snapped his fingers. “Becket.”

  Prescott’s head swiveled around. “What?”

  “Becket. The Archbishop of Canterbury. Buddied around with Henry II.”

  “Look, Jeopardy boy, show off some other–”

  “Henry and Becket had a falling out. Classic conflict between church and state, each trying to grab as much power as possible. Henry couldn’t have the Archbishop of Canterbury axed, so he endured the aggravation. One night, though, when he’d had a bit too much mead, he cried out, ‘Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?’ He was probably just blowing off steam. But four of his knights heard the remark and decided to get in the king’s good graces by offing the Archbishop. Which they did. On hallowed ground.”

  “And this has something to do with Albert DeCarlo?”

  “Of course. Like I said, DeCarlo isn’t a liar. He didn’t order Bartello or anyone else to make the hit. But when he screamed, ‘This tramp has to be eliminated,’ a lot of people were listening.” He readjusted his eyes. “Including Bart here, who was desperate to worm his way back into the boss’s favor.”

  “But you said DeCarlo wouldn’t go after Farnum’s girlfriend to get to Farnum.”

  “Don’t you see? Terry can be a man or a woman’s name. So can Kim. DeCarlo had known Farnum for years. He knew Farnum was really a she. But Bart didn’t. So he came over here to kill ‘this tramp–’”

  “He thought Kim Masters was the tramp?”

  Morelli bent down eye level to his suspect. “You screwed it up, Bartello. DeCarlo wanted Farnum done, not Masters. Farnum will go under police protection now. You screwed up the hit, incriminated your boss, and pretty much guaranteed DeCarlo will never be able to get to Farnum. You might want to leave this town, fast. In fact, you might want to leave this universe. But even if you could—he’d still find you.”

  Bartello’s skin turned icy white. “Oh my God,” he said, and his face said more than all the confessions in the world. “Oh my God.”

  *****

  By the time the sun rose, the various crime teams had finished their work. The newest member of the trace-evidence squad found a latent thumbprint on the outer terrace door that appeared to match Bartello’s. The pieces were coming together.

  Not a bad night’s work, Morelli thought, for Tulsa after hours.

  Two women from Barkley’s office carefully lifted the broken body of Kim Masters onto a stretcher. He and Prescott watched as the silent parade crisscrossed the penthouse apartment and disappeared.

  “Sick,” Prescott groused. “And there you were last night blabbing on about how sad it was, how beautiful she was.”

  “Is she any less beautiful,” he asked, “because she turned out to be a he?”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah. The whole thing’s disgustin’. Dressing up, trying to fool people.”

  “I don’t think Kim Masters was trying to fool anyone. The first night they were together, Farnum said Kim kept asking–‘Why can’t people just let us be who we are?’” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I think Kim was just doing what he could to find solace. Perhaps even a tiny measure of happiness.”

  Prescott pivoted at the door. “You know what I hate most about you, Morelli?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I think you’re just as disgusted by this as I am. But you won’t admit it. You’ve got to be the sophisticated enlightened right-thinking liberal. You’ve got to pretend you aren’t repulsed–even when
you are.”

  “Prescott–”

  “Just tell me this, Morelli. And for once–be honest. You were all so upset when you saw that poor pretty girl cut down in the prime of her life. When you found out she was really some...freak…running around pretending to be something he wasn’t, didn’t you feel just a little relieved?”

  “No.” He pulled his trench coat belt tight and buttoned all the buttons. “I felt worse.”

  *****

  A cool and welcome morning wind caressed Morelli’s brow. Baxter joined him on the terrace.

  “Crime scene is locked up tight. Lab work should be finished in a few hours.” She stood close, but not too close, to him. “Wanna get breakfast? Village Inn is always open.”

  “We could do that.” He turned slightly toward her. “Or we could drive to Arkansas.”

  “Got a hankering for a hot spring?”

  “Might be a nice drive. Leaves are turning. Weather is cool.” He paused. “And we could be married by noon.”

  “What?”

  “No waiting period. No blood test. Eureka Springs has lots of ambiance, if you like that sort of thing.”

  “What has gotten into you?”

  Her took her by the arms and looked straight into her eyes. “Look, we love each other. Even more importantly, we like being together. We’re good friends. People who belong together shouldn’t have to hide in a closet. No one should.”

  “One of us would have to quit their job.”

  “I’ll transfer to Jenks. So what, they’ve been trying to get me for years. The point is, we don’t go on wasting time we could spend together.”

  “But I haven’t planned–”

  “We’re not kids, Kate. We don’t need a big ceremony with forty-seven bridesmaids and a Vera Wang dress. We just need to do it.”

  He felt her arms relax beneath her grip. “Are you serious about this?”

  “Everyone is entitled to a small measure of happiness. Aren’t they?” He led her toward the door. “Let’s get some pancakes. Long drives always make me hungry.”

  Note from the Author:

  Watch for the next Ben Kincaid novel later this year.

  Would you consider posting a review of this book on Amazon or your social media pages? I’d really appreciate it. Here’s a link to the Amazon page for this book: http://www.amazon.com/Yuletide-Justice-The-Ben-Kincaid-ebook/dp/B00GNIOF7W.