by Jim Pascoe
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“Well, we’re plum tuckered out, what with all this running around and not being able to sleep ’cause of recent events. I think we’re just gonna turn in. Right, Sissy?”
“Yes, Jasper, that’s a good idea,” Sissy mumbled. Then she got up from the table, collected her short jacket, and lurched for the door without even saying goodbye. Like an angry puppy, Jasper followed right behind her.
And that left me with the bill.
As I sat there finishing my cigar, Tony came over to me with a fresh Old Grand-Dad and asked the question that was on my mind.
“What the hell was that all about, Ben?”
“Damned if I know, Tony. But something just isn’t right.”
* * *
As I drove home through the streets of Testacy City, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of dread that raced down the road with me.
Jasper’s pack of purple matches came from the notorious Purple Knights Motel. It bothered me that this sleazy joint had entered my life twice in the same day.
Sissy’s likely infidelities and Jasper’s powerful, violent, foul-mouthed temperament disturbed me. Plenty of motives moved around in my mind, but none made much sense. If either one or both of my clients had wanted to get rid of Eli Hathaway, they could have done it a lot cleaner. Their secrets formed a maze that held the answer at its center. That didn’t bother me; I’ve always been good at separating the relevant from the irrelevant while navigating tangled investigations. But more and more I felt that the path to truth would eventually lead nowhere.
I got back to my barren apartment and poured myself a drink. I slipped off my oxfords, loosened my tie, and plopped down into my recliner—the one luxury I afforded myself.
What a mess. I reached down to rub the knots out of my thighs. I didn’t know what more I could do with the case tonight. So I cracked open the copy of the collected writings of Ludwig Wittgenstein that rested on my small reading table.
I flipped to the section containing the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus—the most exciting and surprising piece of philosophy ever written. Wittgenstein’s attempt to reduce the entire world to logical propositions was an inspiration to me. I’d never pretend to understand it, but my detective’s mind ate this convoluted mess of words right up.
Any hope that reading would ease my feeling of impending doom quickly vanished. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about a line Wittgenstein wrote, something like: The things we can’t do anything about, we should just pass over in silence.
I opened my eyes and realized that I could do something. I put the book back down and grabbed my hat. I headed out to investigate Jasper’s connection to the Purple Knights Motel.
I had just locked the door behind me when I heard my phone ringing. I thought about letting it go, but something nagged at me. I quickly unlocked the door and ran to grab the phone, finally getting it to my face so I could gasp a hello.
“Ben?” Sissy’s voice, frantic yet concerned, buzzed across the line.
“Yeah?” I focused on my clock across the room; it was eleven p.m.
“Ben, I need you here,” she pleaded with a fright-filled voice. “Things have gone bad. Please, I need your help.”
“Jasper?”
“Yes, he’s gone crazy! He’s tearing the house apart, throwing things . . . Oh Ben, this is all my fault.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Eli’s death. It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “I was . . . I was . . . having an affair. I’m so sorry, really I am. I was so afraid Eli would find out. It was the worst thing I could have done to him, the poor man. And I couldn’t bear to hurt him like that, so I called it off!” I could tell her tears flowed freely now. “And I think that’s what got him killed! Trout Mathers’s jealous rage!”
My knuckles whitened around the black phone receiver. This happened to me all the time: people hire a detective to figure out their problems but refuse to give up the whole story.
“I wish you would have told me this sooner, sister. But we can worry about all that later. Are you safe right now?”
“Yes. I’m in my room.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
I drove over at a breakneck pace, running red lights and squealing around corners.
I had suspected the cat’s-eye cuff link I’d found in Sissy’s bathroom belonged to Mathers; I’d seen him wear that sort of affair before. And I figured the purple matchbook linked Jasper to Trout, but I still couldn’t play out the angles.
I made it to the Hathaway place in record time. I slammed on the brakes and parked my car in the middle of the road.
The front door stood wide open. I whipped out my Smith & Wesson.
I quickly but cautiously entered the house behind my pistol. All seemed quiet. Kenneth, dressed in striped green pajamas and leather slippers, lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the steps. A quick check of his pulse told me he was still alive, so I gently slapped his face a couple of times to bring him around. He sat up abruptly, spluttering and waving his hands in front of his face like my smacks were a horde of mosquitoes.
“Please, sir, please!” he shouted, as his arms flailed about. I took a step back and waited impatiently while he adjusted his pajama top. A pair of large, doe-like eyes stared at me from his heavily bruised face. “Mr. Drake! Thank heaven it’s you,” he exclaimed, rubbing his cheeks where I’d slapped him.
“Is Sissy okay?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . . I heard gunshots from upstairs.”
I turned and bolted up the steps, taking three at a time and pulling myself up with the ornately carved handrail.
I rapped my knuckles against the door to Sissy’s room and waited a moment. I felt my heart stammer when no reply came back my way.
I grabbed the handle and twisted—locked.
“Damn.” I paced back and forth in the wide hallway for a few moments. “Damn, damn, damn.” I ran at the door and threw my full weight against it.
All that did was jar my bones. Still, I tried again. The thick wooden door didn’t budge.
I emptied my gun into the lock, hoping it was a little flimsier than the door. I stepped back and kicked with all I had. A soft ping echoed gently down the hall, soon swallowed by the eruption of the door giving way.
I burst into the mess of Sissy’s room. The vanity mirror sat in fragments all over the floor. Mounds of clothes were scattered about the room, a large pile on the bed. I noticed a dainty foot with meticulously painted red toenails poking out from under the heap of clothes. I gingerly pushed them aside to find Sissy.
Her face was an unhealthy dark pink. Her beautiful green eyes—once shimmering and lively, now dull and haunting—stared upward, as if trying to penetrate the lace canopy over her bed and gaze into heaven. Her tongue lolled out between her perfectly white teeth, trailed across her burgundy lips, and flopped against her cheek. A single silk stocking, knotted about her throat, pinched the tender flesh of her neck.
I held the back of my hand in front of her open mouth, then felt for a pulse, only to discover what I already knew.
Her fingernails, chipped and broken, showed she had fought the best she could to avoid a violent death. It didn’t do her any good.
I turned my back on the grisly scene and headed downstairs, reloading my gun on the way. As I left the room, I noticed three fresh bullet holes, widely spaced, scarring the wall to the left of the door.
The high-pitched whistle of a teapot drew me toward the kitchen. I followed it, bringing the questions I had for Kenneth with me.
I found the butler sitting at a small table in a dark corner of the kitchen, staring into a steaming cup. When I walked into the room, he looked at me. The bruises on his face had gotten uglier since I’d woken him up; his left eye had almost completely swollen shut.
“I had to get some tea,” he explained. “Would you like a cup? Perhaps some bourbon, sir?”
The poor guy was in shock; hope
fully the tea would nurse him back to reality. Over the years I’d found that I could swallow a dead body a whole lot easier if I had some booze to swallow along with it. The thought of a shot or two tempted me, but not right now. I had a job to do.
“Just fill me in on what went down here.”
He blew on his tea. “Well, as I recall, my duties for the evening were finished. I had just prepared myself a nice glass of warm milk in the kitchen and was enjoying a bit of Joyce before retiring for the night. I find great pleasure in Joyce’s delicate turns of phrase and stream of consciousness—”
“Get on with it,” I growled.
He grimaced but continued: “the sound of gunfire disturbed my reading, so I—”
“How many shots?”
“Ummm . . . Three? Maybe four? I’m afraid I didn’t really keep count, sir.”
“Okay, fine. Keep it coming.” I rolled my hand through the air, gesturing for him to speed up the retelling.
He downed a big gulp of hot tea. This seemed to give him a little strength, which suited me just fine. I needed this butler to grow some backbone and fast.
“Well, sir, after the shots, I thought it best to call the authorities, so I hurried to the phone in the foyer. I picked up the receiver only to hear Jasper’s voice on the line.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“I don’t know. However, I did hear him say that he’d be going to the train station at midnight. Then Jasper appeared on the stairs, saw me hanging up the phone, and . . . well . . .” His thin voice trailed off, and he slurped up some more tea. Worry and fear crept into his eyes as his shock wore off.
I took a frantic glance at my watch: eleven thirty. I had to move if I wanted to crash Jasper’s party at the train station, which sat on the south edge of town right below Highway 15.
I pointed at Kenneth and said, “You call the police and ask for Duke Wellington. Tell them about Sissy and Jasper. Then get a steak from the fridge, put it on your face, and lie down. I’m off to stop Jasper.”
As I bolted out of the kitchen, Kenneth called out to me: “Jasper managed to get ahold of Sissy’s gun.”
I stopped and over my shoulder said, “Sissy’s gun?”
“Yes, Mr. Hathaway purchased it for her protection. It’s what Jasper used . . . to hit me.” He clenched his fists. “He was never worthy of the Hathaway name.”
I’d been hit plenty in my career. I can’t say I ever liked it, but I always came out okay. Even though the fragile butler looked like a tangled mess, I knew he’d be all right. I told him so.
I left Kenneth to his tea and squealed out of Victory Gardens. I sped down Pioneer Road, a twisted stretch of asphalt that cut through the length of the city, as fast as I could take the turns.
Kenneth’s suggestion of alcohol still buzzed about my brain, so I grabbed the flask of bourbon I kept in my glove compartment and took a healthy swig.
I made it to Testacy City’s train station, Jackson Central, in record time. At this hour the station felt like a tomb. A few bums slept on the cushioned seats that filled the center of the space. The only sign of life came from a shifty-looking fellow wearing a gray pinstripe suit who mumbled into the pay phone over by the wall of luggage lockers. Sure, he smelled like trouble, but I had bigger troubles to worry about.
I sprinted up to the tiny barred window where the small ticket master dozed in his chair.
“Where is the midnight train coming in?” I shouted.
The clerk jumped; his wire-rimmed glasses slipped off his face and clattered to the floor.
“Oh my, you startled me!” he exclaimed.
“The midnight train—what’s the platform number?” I repeated more forcefully.
“It’s coming in at number two. If you want to catch it, you’d better hurry! You need a ticket?”
I ignored the question and ran off through the near-deserted building, down the underground tunnel that lead to the station’s platforms.
Framed posters of destinations like Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle lined the tunnel walls. I remembered when my wife and I once took a weekend holiday to Los Angeles—probably the best weekend of my life. Back then I didn’t have a care in the world. One week later she was dead. I threw the unpleasant thought from my mind and pressed on.
My rapid footfalls sent clacking echoes up and down the long stone passageway. The tunnel ended with a sharp left, then started a steep rise up to ground level and the canopy that stood over track number two.
As I hustled up the tunnel to the tracks, angry voices raced down the ramp to meet me. I slowed my pace and hunkered down behind the low stone wall surrounding the tunnel’s exit, creeping forward until I could make out two figures locked in a standoff. Each held a gun aimed at the other’s midsection.
I could see Jasper’s large frame clearly in the dim light that shone from beneath the ceiling of the canopy. His dance partner stood next to the tracks, face obscured by shadows.
A train’s forlorn wail echoed in the distance.
I kept my head down and my eyes up, watching and listening as the drama unfolded.
“We had a deal,” the mystery man snarled.
Jasper responded, half angry, half whining: “I know that, but things didn’t work out the way I planned.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough. You see, no one backs out of a deal with Rex Mayer.”
Rex Mayer? The more Jasper’s behavior convinced me of his guilt, the more Rex Mayer slipped into the background, even though my gut had been telling me from the beginning Rex was mixed up in this mess. It pays to listen to your instincts.
“I’m finished with your deals!” Jasper barked.
“Then I’m afraid I’ll be taking everything I know to the police.”
“And tell them what?” I could hear Jasper’s confidence start to crumble.
Another train whistle rippled through the night. As it trailed off, a cruel laugh spilled out of Rex. “I’ll be telling them you killed Trout Mathers.”
Now the pieces of this caper started to click into place: Jasper’s Purple Knights matchbook, Trout’s grisly death, and Sissy’s confessed affair all tied together. But how the hell did a bumbling simpleton like Jasper manage to get the drop on one of Testacy City’s most ruthless gangsters, let alone bump him off? And how did it all fit into Eli Hathaway’s murder?
“You wouldn’t! It’s not fair!”
More laughter came from Mayer. “You’re a fine one to talk about playing fair. I’d like to ask Trout just how fair you were.”
“He had it coming!”
“Just because he was making time with your brother’s wife? I know for a fact he wasn’t the only one.”
“Watch your mouth!” Jasper howled, shoving his tiny gun at Rex’s face.
I felt a low tremor rattle the ground, a tremor that meant the train was close to home. I had to defuse this situation and get Jasper into custody before he could make his railbound getaway. I owed that much to Sissy. But with this revealing argument raging, I didn’t want to show my hand just yet.
“Hold on there, boyo,” Rex cooed, keeping calm despite the gun pointed at him. “I’m just letting you know the truth.”
“Then . . . then . . . I’ll give the cops the truth! I’ll tell them Mathers killed my brother! And you’re the one who hired him!”
Ah, the payoff. I knew Mathers—not well enough to buy him a drink, but well enough to know jealousy didn’t figure as a motive for him offing Eli. But cash, that’s a motive everyone understands.
I guessed both Sissy and Jasper knew Mathers had killed Eli. Somehow the dim-witted Jasper had tumbled to the Rex Mayer connection and fell victim to some devious, self-centered plan. That left poor Sissy thinking the whole mess had been her fault. So she hired the agency for proof to put her conscience to rest.
“Ha!” Rex scoffed. “Who would believe you, an uneducated country bumpkin, over me, Rex Mayer?”
“You bastard!” The gun in Jasper’s h
and, still pointed at Rex’s head, started to shake.
A low thrum rolled off the railroad tracks and filled the air with an electric aura.
I’d heard enough to put both these jokers away, and the train was getting too close for comfort. I decided to make my move.
I drew my gun, stood up, and stepped onto the platform.
“You’d be surprised what people will believe, Rex,” I sneered.
“Drake!” Rex shouted, pointing his gun my way. Jasper’s automatic stayed fixed on Rex. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you boys the same thing, but I’ve heard all I need to hear. Drop the pistols, and let’s go. This game’s over, and the city’s got a nice set of accommodations waiting for you.”
“Sorry, dick,” Jasper spat, “but I’m going home.”
“Home?” Rex stammered, switching his aim back to Jasper, this time putting the country man’s head clean in the sights. “You owe me!”
The ground started to shake as the noise of the approaching engine grew louder and the voices rose to be heard above the racket.
“Too bad! I’ve had enough of you—both of you—and this town!”
“I want my money!” Rex whined.
“I’m telling you, I’m going out with that train, and nothin’s stopping me.”
“I can’t let you leave, Jasper,” I warned.
“But I have to get out of here!” Jasper now waved his gun madly between Rex and me as he ranted. “This town is poison! It’s turned me into a two-time killer! I can’t take it here anymore!”
Jasper had built up a good head of steam, and now there was little time left to put the brakes on this situation.
“Two-time killer?” Rex asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, stepping closer to Jasper. “He just killed Sissy about half an hour ago.”
“You killed Sissy?” Rex giggled.
“Yes, goddamnit, yes! Trying to get your filthy blackmail money,” Jasper’s howl slipped to a whimper. “If only she would have understood. Oh God, please forgive me.”
The small automatic tumbled from Jasper’s grasp and clattered to the stone platform. He sunk to his knees and dropped his head into his hands.
